The Courier Debacle
by loopdeloopity
Summary: In the aftermath of independent New Vegas, factions disband, rearrange and simply change. New Vegas becomes a shining city in the wastes, on the outside. Still, life goes on. These are the stories of the new citizens of the Mojave Wasteland.


**The Courier Debacle**

He flicked his cigarette into the glass ash tray at the bar counter, not bothering to look up. She was crying now, and loudly too. People were beginning to stare.

"Why did you think I'd change my mind, Molly?" he began sighing, finally meeting her eyes, "After all you did, you can't think we'd go back to like it was." Although he was trying to keep his temper in check, his tone was rising. "Christ. You're dumber than a Brahmin sometimes."

Molly was blubbering, priceless mascara dripping down her cheeks. All her gambling bottlecaps had gone into that one stupid tube of pre-war goop. It was all going to waste too, and not simply because it was smeared all over her face. Roy hadn't listened to a word she'd said, no matter how alluringly she'd batted her lashes. And to think she'd spent all that time practicing in the mirror.

"I just didn't want you to leave me," she choked out. Snot had begun to drip onto the only dress she owned, a shoddy pumpkin-colored number printed with hundreds of tiny flowers. Even though it was filthy, she'd bought it because Roy loved plants, especially anything that blossomed. Nowadays, the only thing he loved was a bottle.

Roy slammed his fist into the counter, making more than a few nearby drinkers jump. "Why wouldn't I? After what your people did?" He was definitely yelling now, all attempts at self-restraint gone. "They killed her for trying to feed me! When they had more than enough!"

Molly pleaded. "They were scared, Roy! They'd been like that for decades!" She reached for his hand, her voice dropping to a whisper. "And I know it doesn't make up for what happened. I'm so sorry for your mother, I really am. But I miss you so much." Her fingertips met his own, and for a second, Roy was completely still.

Then, as if he received an electric shock, Roy jerked away. "I need some time to think," he mumbled, standing up. In one swift motion, Roy had hitched his satchel over his shoulder and chucked a handful of bottlecaps on the counter. The conversation was over.

Before Molly could even protest, he was gone. Unashamedly, a new wave of sobs overtook her, causing her to lay her head in her arms. The Atomic Wrangler had gone completely silent, except of course for her wailing.

Suddenly, a painfully girlish cry erupted from a table by the door.

"My drinks are gone!" an expensively dressed gentleman was shrieking.

At least 5 or 6 provocatively clad ladies sat with him, scowling. They'd obviously only been interested in the man for the alcohol.

"They were right on that tray! I must've spent 300 caps on those!" he continued to squeak.

Realizing what had happened, Molly began to smile. Being a former NCR soldier gave you very quick fingers, and Roy happened to use them for stealing. Considering some of the things other previous NCR members were doing, it was an almost noble use of skill.

As the man continued to rage, the irony of it all gave her joy she hadn't felt in ages. Soon, she was tipping her head back in laughter, her flaming red waves flying every which direction. Tears sprang from her eyes, but this time, from the hilarity of the situation. Her mood had flipped, but the volume of her voice had only increased. Eventually, the bartender reached the end of his rope, and did the honors of literally throwing her out of the casino.

Somehow not harming herself, Molly had crumpled into a ball on the pavement, still chuckling like a mad woman. Although it was barely nine in the morning, the sidewalk was blazing hot. But in her state of inebriation, it couldn't have mattered less. Not getting up from the location of impact, she moved to her side and spent the morning _extremely _frightening off the casino's customers. Strangely enough, no one tried to move her, although it could be imagined why. With sunburnt skin, a disarray of red hair, and an orange outfit, she gave a startling resemblance to a startling bout of flame, flickering with every giggle. Three full hours later, she was finally extinguished when she fell asleep.

The first feeling was this prolific happiness. Molly slowly eased herself to a sitting position, trying to remember the cause of such emotion. Before any recollection, the bliss seeped away. What was left was a horrendous pounding in her head. Another hangover she deducted, accessing the setting sun. But what was this dull ache in her side, tearing at her muscle like the stitches you get when you run? Or laugh too much... _Laughing._ She'd been laughing an awful lot this morning, hadn't she? The memories were foggy, and the typical haze of waking up didn't help matters any.

When she got her bearings together, she realized she was in a bed. A grimy one at that, so there was the possibility she'd left Freeside. 20 years ago the ghetto had been refuge to poverty and crime, to put matters lightly. However, after the independence of New Vegas, the place had been transformed into a habitable, if not safe neighborhood. Under the New Vegas Restoration Project, or the NVRP for short, nearly all of New Vegas was coming under successful governance, and thus vastly improved standards of living. Businesses were flourishing, tourists were flooding in, and remarkably, the general population was reaching a 'middle-class status'. This was an almost laughable title. In the remains of the city of vice, average living could mean something as vulgar as fewer limbs having to be cleaned off sidewalks.

The reason for Freeside's personal success story is acquitted to the Kings. The premier gang of any New Vegas ghetto, the Kings had brought a sort-of order to their territory even before the Courier Debacle. Still, chaos seeped like Mojave sand through their fingers. In addition to their already shaky control, insurmountably more problems arose following the NCR's departure of New Vegas. Seeing their chance, the heads of the NVRP offered an almost too good deal to the Kings. If they ensured a safe, and 'leisurely' passage for tourists to the gleaming city ahead, they'd receive a hefty sum of bottle caps. At first, like the strong-headed individuals they fought to be, the Kings spat on the offer. As weeks passed, the hot-tempers venturing with heat waves simmered into colder, empty-pocketed nights. Frustrated, and shifting low on what already little funds they had, they restricted water to only those they deemed suitable. It was a harsh measure, but it produced results. Those who couldn't shape up (or suck-up), moved to North Vegas, the poorest sector of New Vegas. And judging by the layer of filth on her bedding, Molly supposed that's where she was now.

Molly propped herself up on her elbow and glanced around. Someone had brought her to where she'd taken to sleeping lately, a mattress under an old slide in the North Vegas Park. But who? Her question was answered as a scrawny figure tackled her down.

"Sis! Glad to see me?" an over eager boy asked, hugging his sister tightly, "Mama say 'Go to the bar. Lord, know that boy went and swept her off her feet.' whatever that means." the child mocked, doing great justice to the New Canaan caravaner accent their mother had. "But you actually right there! So I got Gary to haul you over here!"

Summoned by that comment, Gary stepped out from the shadows and sat on a nearby slide, placing his hand on his chin in his classic, bored way. Being the polar opposite of his brother, he simply gave a meek wave in Molly's direction. He was frowning a little, but that was to be expected. He loathed trips to the city almost as much as his turn to clean the Brahmin pens. Still, being sixteen, Roger was expected to shepherd his little brother through the wastes. The trip from 'the homeland' to New Vegas was short, yet riddled with dangers.

Molly pried herself away from her brother's vise grip and gave him a sour look. "Y'know Trevor, sometimes your constant energy really gets on my nerves. And don't you dare bring mama into this. I'm not going home,"

Trevor rolled his eyes, shaking his entire blond head as he did so. "Mama say you gon' be stubborn."

"You don't understand, Trev. You're only twelve. I can't go home. It's different when you're an adult. You can't keep living with your parents. Especially when they're… " Molly trailed off.

Trevor's eyes turned down, his voice becoming barely audible. "You can't help bein' Boomers, Molly. We can't help what happ'nd, or what people think 'bout us."

Molly stared at him, almost in disbelief. Trevor took so much after their dad it was almost eerie. Physically, both their father and Trevor, were short, Trevor now scratching 4'9. The two men's hair shared the same light yellows of not yet ripe maize, though Trevor's locks were wavy like their mother's, and not straw like their aging father's were. Paying homage to maternal genes, Trevor's eyes were a dusty gray-brown. The difference occurred in that his world was seen through irises huge, brimming with the sparkle of youth. Much to Molly's jealousy, he'd also inherited their mother's easy tanning skin. Since he'd been running amuck all summer, this September his complexion was a flawless dry-spell cloud, yellowed and browned in all the right places.

Yet, what always amazed her most were the similarities in the way her father and Trevor acted. The little boy's eyes now fixated downward, as if amazed by the tiny, un-irradiated ants ghouls fabled about. Whenever their father was ashamed or embarrassed, he made the exact same expression. So, as of late… well, the imaginary insects were a constant source of interest to their father.


End file.
